


Tempus Manuum

by Potassiumer



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: M/M, Uncreative as heck soulmates AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potassiumer/pseuds/Potassiumer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mihashi can barely remember a time before the clock appeared on his wrist, the one counting down the time until the spring of his eighteenth year, the one that will reach zero when he meets his soulmate.</p>
<p>Or, yunno, dies.</p>
<p>Soulmates AU with college age Oofs and serious cannon divergence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ars Vivendi

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. I thought I'd try my hand at SERIOUS MULTI-CHAPTER FIC and so I decided to inflict a crappy soulmate AU on you.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: The whole first chapter is very rough, and it's Mihashi just, yunno, being Mihashi but with no Nishiura High and a lot of anxiety about death, relationships, etc. Be advised it's not a good chapter for those affected by fictionalized panic attacks. Stay safe!

[00:10:35]

—————————————————————————————

Mihashi’s lungs and eyes burn, and as his bike screeches around the blind turn he’s only warned by a honk before he’s nearly hit by a van—in fact, the van clips the back wheel of his bike, and Mihashi wobbles dangerously before he is able to straighten himself out. But it’s okay. It’s not time yet. He still has ten minutes.

Sobs rack his body, and he has trouble pedaling he’s shaking so badly, but he’s used to this. He’s cried so often in his life—when he had to move schools, alone in the locker room after yet another called game, in the faint dawn-light flooding his room when the clock on his wrist hit thirty minutes. He won’t let the tears filling his eyes keep him from moving.

Mihashi skids to a halt in the parking lot, his bike flopping over onto the asphalt when he can’t be bothered to put the kickstand down. It’s not like he’ll be needing it again, though the crossbar bangs his shin with a thud that Mihashi more hears than feels.

[00:02:02]

Two minutes, according to the clock ticking the time down on Mihashi’s wrist. He stumbles onto the field, a half-limp half-jog towards the mound. The morning mist hangs low around the grass—it would be pretty, with the sunbeams kissing his hair and spilling on the drenched ground, igniting the dew where it touched. A perfect morning to meet a soulmate. Too bad he doesn’t have one.

Mihashi drops to his knees on the mound, and his fingers curl into the dirt. His tears feel so, so hot as they run down his cheeks, and through the blur of his vision Mihashi can just see them hit the dirt, and make out the clock imprinted on the soft skin of his inner wrist, ticking down the time until he meets his soulmate or dies.

[00:01:21]

Mihashi’s sobbing grows louder, and he curls in on himself, smushing his face into the dirt, the smell of the mound eliciting at the same time feelings of love and despair. He had promised his team that he would never play baseball again, but he wants to feel the mound under his feet one last time, to really _exist_ before he dies. He has known for a long time what his clock means, not quite at first; when he was so young his mother was helping him bathe, and as she rubbed the washcloth on his dirty arm his timepiece emerged, thin black numbers shifting with the seconds and the minutes. His mother had teared up, and as soon as she washed the soap out of Mihashi’s hair they went to figure out what the hours added up to. She held his wrist gently as she checked and double-checked it, putting the numbers in a calculator with a tip-tap that Mihashi still remembered to this day.

“Eighteen.” She smiled down at him, with something between relief and fear showing on her face, a reaction Mihashi hadn’t quite understood until much later. “How sweet.” She giggled a little, and Mihashi did too: he didn't really understand the word, _soulmate_ , the one spoken in a hush when people look at their clocks, but he did feel something exciting and electric in the air, and he crawled into his mother’s lap to look at her own timepiece, the one on her wrist with the white spidery lines. It read “00:00:00,” just like his dad’s: she told him a long time ago that it turned white when it reached “0,” the second she met his dad.

It wasn’t until he was older that Mihashi learned that the clock could have a second meaning, learned why his mother’s expression contained fear mixed with joy. It came in whispers at school—a rumor, that someone’s big brother, (Tadeshi, from class 6?), that someone’s big brother had gone out at night to meet his soulmate, and had never met her. He had been hit by a car on the way to the park, and his clock stopped the exact moment his heart did.

Mihashi had figured out his clock was the latter type in middle school, where his own self-loathing was only surpassed by the hate of his teammates. Hatake had spotted the thin numbers first, when he had Mihashi backed up against the wall of the school, the catcher twisting the pitcher’s arm until Mihashi had been sure it would break. Mihashi never quite forgot the pain, but the words were worse, words that were soon hurled softly at him in corridors, whispered in passing in the dugout, bouncing around the whole team until Mihashi’s ears rang with them.

Kanou-kun was kinder, showing Mihashi a time that suggested he would meet his other half in college, petting Mihashi’s hair as he reassured Mihashi with words that just bounced off of his ears.

Mihashi looks down at his own wrist now.

[00:00:25]

He lets himself fall to the side, shoulders heaving, arm extended in front of his face. Not long now, as the seconds slip by. He wants to shut his eyes, to screw his face up—he wants to get up and run and scream, but as the time ticks down he is perfectly still aside from the sobs wracking his shoulders. His other arm tightens around his stomach as the time hits five seconds, and his own heart is so loud in his ears that he misses the sound soft footsteps crunching the grass behind him.

[00:00:00]

“Hey, are you okay?”

Mihashi squawks, his eyes opening in a flash—he had closed them at one second to go after all—he doesn’t see anything in front of him, but as he rolls over he sees an angel.

“Are you hurt? What are you doing out here?”

The rising sun bursts behind the creature, making it just a silhouette against the pink sky, and Mihashi blinks, dazed.

“Ah—u-um, I—“

Mihashi’s eyes begin to adjust to the sunlight, and he starts to doubt his initial impression: after all, as much as he likes baseball, he’s pretty sure that backwards baseball caps aren’t part of the angelic uniform. Plus, the creature—or the man?—is scowling down at him, and Mihashi had always imagined angels as being ethereal, and probably above emotions like grumpiness. Still, he wants to make a good impression if he did in fact die on the mound at 6:22 in the morning and is being collected to go…wherever. Mihashi scrambles to his feet, wiping at the tears on his face but really only succeeding at smearing the dirt on his cheeks around a bit.

“I’m o-okay. Um, I was just…I was just…”

The creature lets out a breath, and Mihashi looks up from where he was inspecting his shoes. It—he—is a boy probably around Mihashi’s age, though significantly taller and more sturdily built. Short black hair sticks out below its cap, which is emblazoned with the college’s logo, and the creature removes it to scrub a hand through its hair, looking put-upon. If Mihashi were in a mood to notice that sort of thing, he would have thought the creature very handsome, with its messed up hair and good cheekbones and droopy, dark eyes, but as it was Mihashi could barely make eye contact before he was back staring at his shoes. He notices distantly that he has smudged dirt all over his knees.

“…look, do you need a doctor? You can’t—you can’t stay out here, practice is starting in like ten minutes.”

“Pr-practice?” Mihashi stutters, looking back up and around at the field.

“Yeah—non-varsity players can use the diamond when we’re not practicing, but the team’s got it reserved weekday mornings.” The creature—no, _man_ , Mihashi realizes, a man who plays on the Varsity team—the man crosses his arms, looking half-worried half-exasperated. “So…are you hurt? I’ve got a phone if you need to call—“

“No—I’m okay! I’m not hurt!” Mihashi chirps, furiously scrubbing at his face. “Sorry to—um—I’ll leave.”

“Oh, alright. If you’re, um, if you’re sure.” The other man has a nice voice, deep, though it’s a little loud. “You don’t have to leave, I guess, if you want to sit in the stands.” If Mihashi were making eye contact, he would have noticed the boy make a face immediately after he said the last sentence, as if he were questioning the sanity of letting some loon he found sobbing in the baseball diamond stick around for practice. As it is, Mihashi just strenuously shakes his head.

“N-no, it’s okay, um, I’ll just—I’ll just go.” Mihashi stutters, backing away from the other man. His stutter has gotten better since high school, but it still comes back occasionally, and Mihashi finds himself gulping and just managing “Sorry!” before he about-faces and sprints out of the field, only stopping when he gets to his abused bike, and then not for long, hopping on and pedaling until he gets to his little apartment.

Mihashi lets himself in, sagging against the door as his panting breaths shake his body. He finds his eyes drawn to his wrist, and he brings his shaking hand up to his face, the lettering a little smudged with dirt, but still readable:

00:00:00

Belatedly, Mihashi realizes he just met his soulmate, and mixed joy and utter despairing embarrassment overtake him as he presses his face into his hands. He’s not dead. He’s just found out he has and met his soulmate. And the man probably thinks he’s a lunatic.

—————————————————————————————

Mihashi spends a few days getting himself together—he’s not dead after all, and he’s developed some coping strategies from high school, but the shock of the whole thing leaves him immobilized in his apartment for a while. That and the fear—the hope—that he will meet the man from the field again keeps him from class, only scurrying furtively out to the market for food once in the whole few days.

Eventually Mihashi has to go to class--he doesn’t know what to do with his life now, but he decides in the short term to start doing school, since he is at University after all (even though it’s such a weird feeling--he had picked this one just because it was close to home, and it wasn’t like he was expecting to be going there long, not with the _dying_ halfway through the first semester).

The place is pretty big, so the chances he’ll run into the man when he’s not expecting it are pretty slim. Lurking in the back of his mind the whole time is the thought that, if he wanted to, he could go back to the field and sit in the stands and see him, and maybe...get to know his name? Mihashi thinks about the whole thing later, and can’t shake the feeling that it had been a mistake, that maybe he _was_ meant to die there, but the man had stopped it?

Mihashi is still immobilized by doubt when he walks into his introductory biology class, and _terrified_ when he finally sits down and sees the back of the backwards baseball cap--rather, the front of the cap, the back of the man’s head--on the second row, its owner lounging casually, as of yet seemingly unaware of Mihashi’s presence. Still, Mihashi shrinks down in his chair at the very back of the lecture hall, drawing a very odd look from the girl beside him, until his eyes are just peeking over his tiny armrest desk.

He can only see his, uh, soulmate’s profile when the man turns his head to talk to the curly-haired man beside him, again taking off his cap and running his hand through his hair in what appears to be an unconscious habit. Mihashi thinks he’s absolutely gorgeous.

Mihashi has to sit up in his chair when the Professor comes in, and his phones clatters loudly to the floor as he scrambles to get his notebook and pens out, turning a few heads as he dips quickly down to retrieve it. At least when he comes up the beautiful boy isn’t looking at him, but Mihashi finds himself unable to look away from the stitching on his cap, the slight bit of skin between the man’s hair and his collar--well, so much for paying attention in his lesson. Mihashi is completely unable to focus on anything the professor is saying, and it’s only as everyone else puts away their things that Mihashi comes to.

He shoves everything roughly into his bag, dashing to get out of the back doors before hat-guy turns around, and he breaths a sigh of relief as he’s out the doors, making a beeline for the bathroom and--

He collides with a smallish guy just outside the classroom. Mihashi stumbles back, notices the other boy dropped some papers, drops to his knees to pick them up, “Sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t see you there--”

“Really, it’s fine,” the boy chuckles and helps Mihashi with the papers, or rather gathers the papers up himself as Mihashi flutters ineffectually around. “I should have watched where I was going.”

_A good person!_ “Um--no, it wasn’t your fault.” Mihashi gets up when the other boy does. “I’m really sorry--”

“Hey, Sakaeguchi, I didn’t know you had class down here.”

Mihashi has only heard that voice once, but recognizes it instantly, whirling around to come face to face with his s _oulmate oh my god he hates me_ \--

The other man’s eyebrows raise, but otherwise he doesn’t react like he thinks Mihashi is a serial killer or stalker or anything, and before Mihashi can say anything “Sakaeguchi” is replying to hat guy.

“Oh, I was just coming down to see Suyama.” Mihashi watches as Sakaeguchi plants a chaste kiss on the cheek of a tall, impeccably-dressed man who’s just walked up with the curly-haired guy from earlier. “Want to get lunch?”

Soulmate-guy shakes his head, eyes flicking from Mihashi to Sakaeguchi. “Uh--nah, got a group project meeting at noon. I’ll see you at practice.”

Sakaeguchi whines a little at the words, tucking his arm through Suyama’s--Mihashi notices the cute matching wristbands they have tied over their left wrists, right where their clocks would be. “Ugh, don’t remind me. These three-a-days are killer. And don’t you start, Hanai.”

Mihashi’s not really sure who Hanai is, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s backing slowly away from everyone, moving slowly like he thinks they’ll be attracted by any sudden movements. His soulmate seems to notice him leaving, but makes no move to stop him, which leaves Mihashi awash with relief and something alarmingly like disappointment.

No one else seems to notice him go, and Mihashi is so used to it that it’s lost its sting, and he’s so focused on making his getaway that he almost misses the way his soulmate’s head snaps up when the curly-haired guy calls him “Abe.”

_Abe_.

So that’s his name.

Mihashi gets around the corner and sprints towards the nearest bathroom. It’s mercifully empty, and he locks himself into a stall with trembling hands before collapsing on the seat, curling over his bag.

This is okay. This is fine.

This tightening in his chest is fine, this crushing, oppressive weight over his heart is just normal. This full-fledged panic that he hasn’t felt since he accidentally ran into his old middle school team at the convenience store is back, and it’s A-OK. Mihashi can’t breathe and his head is spinning and oh God, was he going to pass out on the toilet seat?

Mihashi leans his head against the stall wall, the cheap plastic-like surface cool for now, shifting ever so slightly with his movements. He’s dimly aware that he’s hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling quickly and silently. His knuckles are white where they clench by his knees.

**  
** Mihashi is afraid of dying. But he’s afraid of Abe too.


	2. Alba Vacua Pagina

Mihashi goes the next couple days without seeing Abe or any of his friends--apparently Biology is the only course he has with him. Mihashi thinks about dropping it, but the tightening in his chest combined with the realization that it’s not like, yunno, he has to talk to Abe or anything stops him. He can just sit in the back and not talk and just look and maybe...build up to something.

Baby steps.

It’s not until the next weekend that Mihashi’s routine is further interrupted. He’s in the kitchen, a little flour smudged on his nose from the dough he’s kneading, a sleepy haze hanging pleasantly over the morning, making him smother a yawn in the crook of his elbow. A knock on the door and Mihashi squawks, somehow managing to press the dough in such a way that a pocket of flour becomes dislodged and puffs up into his face. He’s still sneezing and scrubbing at his forehead when he opens the door, only getting out a plaintive “Sorry--” before Ruri throws her arms around his neck.

“Ren-ren! Ooh, but you had your parents and me so worried!”

“...don’t call me Ren-ren.” Mihashi almost pouts, but he can’t hide his happiness at seeing her, and he pats awkwardly on her back, little puffs of flour rising off his hands from the impact.

Ruri disengages, pulling a face when she sees the state of his face and the plain little apron he had tied around his waist. “You don’t call, you don’t text for weeks--”

“It’s only been a few days.” Mihashi mutters, but she’s not listening--

“--and you wouldn’t let me help you move in, and just...look at you.” She gestures despairingly at Mihashi’s flour-covered front, and then down at her own, only just now realizing that it’s rubbed off on her too.

“...get you a washcloth,” Mihashi mumbles, shutting the door behind his cousin and ushering her into his apartment. It’s a little messy, but the kitchen looks pretty well-loved, and Ruri settles herself on a barstool in the kitchen without complaint, taking the damp towel Mihashi offers her and distractedly patting her front with it as she looks around.

“It’s so small! I guess it would be, so close to campus. And it looks like you’re eating well, at least.” Ruri looks approvingly at the dough sagging on the counter.

“There’s a--a market not t-too far from here.” Mihashi murmurs, turning his attention back to kneading the dough. “I can get fresh ingredients there on weekends…”

“Ren-ren!” Ruri suddenly exclaims, the purpose of her visit apparently remembered, and another puff of flour floats up at Mihashi’s answering jerk, though he avoids getting the worst of it on his face. “Why haven’t you been answering any of our messages? Your mom was worried sick, since she didn’t hear anything and, you know…” Ruri picks at her own wristband, one with  a nice floral pattern and one of those pockets for keeping keys or cash. The old sweatband Mihashi uses is currently laying off to the side, and the “00:00:00” shines whitely on his left wrist, mostly obscured by splashes of flour. “We just wanted to know you were okay…”

Mihashi blushes and looks down. “S-sorry…”

“Yeah, just don’t do it again, okay? And Kanou-kun wants to know how you’re doing too.” Ruri rests her face in her hands, blowing a bit of stray fringe out of the way on a soft exhale. “...so, how’d it go? Do you know who she is? Or was it one of those things where you were in a crowd…?”

“He--um.” Mihashi clears his throat, bending under the counter to get a bread tin. “No, I kn-know who he is.”

“He? Oh, is he handsome?” Ruri suddenly grins, letting her hands fall on the counter and leaning her body forward. Her fringe falls lightly over her eyes, and Mihashi notices a bit of hair that’s managed to escape her twin braids and curls by her face. “...does he play baseball? Tell me all about him.”

Mihashi gulps, suddenly achingly aware of his own pathetic failure at getting to know or even, yunno, interacting with his own soulmate. “He, um, his name is Abe. And y-yeah, he plays baseball.” And with that he has already exhausted his knowledge of the other man.

“I knew it!” Ruri laughs, wrinkling her nose a little as flour puffs up when Mihashi dumps the dough in the pan. “That’s perfect! You guys can play together!” Mihashi opens the oven door and gently tilts the pan onto the middle rack, shutting the oven behind him and hitting the button on the timer. “Do you like him? What’s he look like?” Ruri cocks her head to the side, looking quite pleased at being able to live out a soulmate experience vicariously through Mihashi. Her own numbers are still black on her wrist, counting down to her twenty-seventh summer--still quite a ways to go. “Who was more nervous--well, it was you of course, but how nervous was he?”

Mihashi freezes, his hands held perfectly still under the running water from the sink. A horrible, dreadful feeling settles into the pit of his stomach. “He--he wasn’t--”

Ruri seems to sense something is amiss, and she gets up off of her chair and skirts around the counter to stand at Mihashi’s elbow. “Ren, what’s wrong?”

“He didn’t know…” Mihashi’s head dips, and his hands unconsciously clench into loose fists. “He wasn’t nervous a-at all, and he d-din’t say a-anthying, a-a-and--”

“Okay, it’s okay. Calm down.” Ruri leans over him, shutting off the tap, and she guides him over to the couch with a gentle hand on his elbow. Mihashi sinks onto the cushions, just barely managing to keep his shaking in check.

“W-why didn’t he know? I-if he’s my--and we’re--but he’s--” Mihashi leans forward until his head rests between his knees, taking in a long, shuddering breath. How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn’t it occurred to him that Abe’s clock would have been counting down too, if they really were--

He sniffles, still hunched over his knees, barely conscious of Ruri’s hand gently patting his back. If Abe was his soulmate, then his clock would have hit zero at the same time that Mihashi’s did, and if his clock was ticking down Abe surely would have noticed, and if he knew that it was approaching time he would have been looking out for Mihashi, his soulmate rather, and if he were looking out then he would definitely not have acted like he did--

“Ren, it’s okay. Come on. You’re saying he wasn’t nervous? Like he didn’t know?” Ruri’s voice is soft, and her hand is still stroking kindly down his back, occasionally coming up to smooth his hair.

“Y-y-yeah…” Mihashi shudders out, taking another deep breath.

“Well, that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he just doesn’t show nervousness that well.” Mihashi shakes his head under her hand, and Ruri purses her lips, thinking hard. “Well--some people don’t believe in their clocks, you know? Maybe he just doesn’t believe in soulmates, so he’s not keeping track?”

Mihashi lets out a soft, miserable whine. That’s hardly better; how’s Mihashi supposed to win him over if Abe doesn’t think anything of him—his charming personality?

“Look--” Ruri pulls up on Mihashi’s shoulder, making the blonde sit up and look at her. His eyes are red and swimming with tears, and she sighs, grabbing the throw blanket for him to wipe his eyes off on. “If I know you, you were too scared to say hardly anything to the guy. Did you mention he was your soulmate?”

Mihashi shakes his head, scrubbing at his eyes with the blanket.

“Okay. So there’s no point feeling sorry for yourself before you’ve even done something!” Ruri lightly hits him on the shoulder, and Mihashi hiccups a little close-mouthed sound of surprise before she continues. “You’ve gotta at least try him before you give up--just, talk about baseball, right? I know you haven’t played since middle school, but I’ve seen how you look when you watch Kanou-kun’s games, so I’m sure you’ll still have plenty to talk about.” Mihashi begins to shake his head, and is interrupted by Ruri’s even more vigorous nods.

“No arguing. At least give this guy a chance before you give up on him! And I know how stubborn you are. Just put it to good use for once!”

Mihashi scrubs under his eyes, no new sobs coming for now, though he hiccups a couple times as Ruri gets up from the couch, rummaging around in the cabinet for a bit before getting out a glass and pouring him some water. He takes it in both trembling hands as her weight presses into the cushions beside him, and takes a few, cautious sips.

“Even if you get a ‘no,’ at least you’ll know you tried…” Ruri’s voice is so soft and it matches so perfectly with the last brave part of his brain that Mihashi doesn’t immediately register that she spoke the words, that they weren’t just thoughts floating around in his head.

Mihashi curls up, his knees coming up just below his chin. “O-okay.” He breathes, pressing his forehead to his kneecaps. “...he think’s I’m really weird.”

Ruri bites her lip. “Um...well, that’s okay. I’m sure if he’s your soulmate he’s pretty weird too.”

Mihashi’s lips curve into a soft, tenuous smile, though Ruri can’t see it from where she’s sitting. He takes a deep breath and raises his head, amber eyes tinged with red and watery. “...I’m glad you came,” he murmurs, a little hiccuping hitch still in his voice.

Ruri smiles back, hand coming up to ruffle Mihashi’s hair. Mihashi squawks softly, eyes scrunching shut. “Me too,” Ruri says lightly, tugging a little on his hair. “So don’t shut us out again, okay?”

Mihashi tries to nod, but her grip on his hair stops him. “Okay.”

Ruri releases him, reaching into her bag to pull out her phone. “Okay, I’m gonna text your parents that you’re alright. No, wait, you do it.” She gently shoves him off the couch, and Mihashi makes his way over to his phone where it was charging on the counter. He types out a quick message [[sorry i haven’t talked to you in a while. (シ_ _)シ i’m okay. i’ll call you later. ruri’s here now]], and puts it back down.

“So, um, what have you been doing?” he asks as he damps another washcloth to clean the flour off the counter, feeling a little bad that Ruri took the time to come over and check on him and she’s had to spend the whole time consoling her grown-ass crybaby cousin.

Ruri chatters a little about how school is going: classes are hard but not impossible, she has an art class with Kanou that she’s really been enjoying, her roommate comes in at all hours and occasionally locks her out...Mihashi lets the chatter wash over him, waiting out the time for the bread to come out of the oven by making rice balls. Ruri helps, forming the sticky rice into clumps and flicking some onto Mihashi’s nose; he squawks and she laughs, just grinning at him even as he fusses with more grumpiness for show than he actually feels.

Mihashi spends the rest of the day hanging out with Ruri, sharing fresh bread and after changing out of his floury clothes even venturing out of his apartment to give her a tour of campus--well, as much of a tour as he can when he hasn’t been able to bring himself to come out of his room. He still feels fragile, stitched together as if another shock would shatter him; but Mihashi makes himself put it out of his mind. They pass near the back fence of the baseball diamond, and he stiffens when he hears the tell-tale clink of bat on ball.

“Oh, is that the team?” Ruri turns and is about to walk over to the fence, when a tug on her arm halts her progress, and Mihashi shakes his head, face white and bloodless. “Oh, come on, it’s okay.” At further and more vigorous head-shaking, Ruri sighs, looking up at the cloudy sky. “Ren, it’ll be fine. They’re practicing--they won’t be paying attention to us. I just want to look.”

True to her word, they are very far away from any players, and even the outfield are all focused on the diamond. Ruri doesn’t drag Mihashi along, though he follows anyway, as if attached via string to his cousin. Ruri’s hands curl lightly on the chain-link fence, and she squints all the way down to where the players are. “Which one is he? What’s his number--I can’t make out the names on their shirts from here.”

Mihashi comes to stand beside her, pressing his forehead gently against the wire of the fence. He can hardly read the numbers of the outfield players, but even at this distance he can tell that none of them have “Abe” printed across their shoulders. “I--I don’t know his number.” Mihashi whispers, as if he’s afraid of being apprehended.

“Oh. Well, do you see him?”

His eyes scan all the players, and with a sinking feeling he doesn’t recognize any of them—he gets a little jolt when the catcher stands up and pulls his mask off; the player has almost exactly the same build as Abe, pants loose in the waist but tight over the legs and rear, a catcher’s build. N-not at Mihashi’s been looking at Abe’s…back pocket region. Or anything.

But quick inspection reveals that the man is not Abe—even at this distance Mihashi can see that the man’s skin is lighter, and his hair is blonde, not black. “I don’t…I don’t see him.” Mihashi murmurs, the drop in his stomach palpable. He pushes gently off the fence; he doesn’t see Sakaeguchi or Suyama either, so he guesses that they’re off doing something else…?

“You’re sure he plays on the team?” Ruri squints even more, as if she would be able to recognize him if she saw him.

Mihashi nods, rubbing his arms a little. “Y-yeah…”

Ruri presses her lips together, and her head swivels as she levels a searching gaze at Mihashi. “…you would tell me if you did see him, right?” Mihashi looks surprised, then indignant, and he nods, so vigorously a blur seems to hang in the air.

“He’s not here.” He adds, a little sulkiness tinging his tone, and Ruri laughs, the fence shaking slightly as she pushes off of it. “Okay, okay, I believe you. Let’s go get coffee—I’m freezing out here.”

Mihashi and Ruri skirt the practice field—the wind tugs lightly at Mihashi’s clothes, and he jumps when a drop of rain kisses his nose. Mihashi stops, leveling an almost indignant gaze at the sky. “Something wr—” Ruri starts, and a loud crack interrupts her—Mihashi at first thinks it’s lightning, but the storm hasn’t really started yet, and when they round a corner of the practice facility they see what it was. A brick-and mortar shed has been shielding the batting cages from their view, and through the chain-links Mihashi can see a few pitching machines, and hear more clearly the whoosh of the ball in the air as it comes shooting out.

Another loud clang, and both of their eyes are drawn towards the nearest batter—no cap this time but a batting helmet, eyes just barely narrowed in concentration; Abe steps forward, swiveling smoothly at his hips as he drives the bat forward to the ball and slams it into the netting on the back of the cage.

A sheen of sweat shines over his face, and he doesn’t smile even when he rockets another one back, dark eyes fixed as intensely on the machine as if it were a batter in an official game. Mihashi’s breath catches in his chest, and he notices he’s taken an unconscious little half-step back. Ruri does too, and she stares at him before looking back at Abe, who swings the bat again like the machine has personally offended him.

“Are you guys lost?”

Mihashi’s shoulders jolt, and his gaze jumps to Sakaeguchi, who is standing on the other side of the fence, outside of the netting of the cage. Mihashi notices he’s switched out his floral wristband for a navy blue sports one. The knot in the cloth is facing inwards towards his body—a universal sign that he’s already met his soulmate, or at least, isn’t looking for one.

“I—uh—coffee?” Mihashi manages to squeak out. Now that Sakaeguchi’s drawn their attention to them, the two other players standing with him also turn and stare at Ruri and Mihashi. the It’s the curly-haired guy and someone Mihashi doesn’t recognize, a boy with a glazed-out stare and a little ponytail of red hair sticking out of the back of his cap.

“I’m sorry! Not—supposed…here?” Mihashi _wishes_ he could untangle his own words, wishes the he didn’t force other people to pick up the frayed ends of conversations and knit them into something recognizable—wishes he couldn’t hear the half-second too long gaps other people have to insert before their speech just so they have the time to decode him. Wishes he wasn’t such a fucking burden all the time.  “Sorr—”

“Oh, oh no, you guys are fine! I didn’t know you could get to the Middle Ground from here, that’s all.” Sakaeguchi squints a little harder, and then he seems to recognize Mihashi. “Oh hey! Haha, we keep running into each other. Not literally this time though.”

“Sorry!” Mihashi reflexively blurts out. Sakaeguchi’s smile falters a little.

“Oh no, it’s okay—“

“Sakaeguchi, you’re up.”

Mihashi jumps for the third time in as many minutes. Abe has apparently finished his round, and he hands the bat to Sakaeguchi, fluidly pulling off his batting gloves. His eyes catch Mihashi’s and he blinks, once, twice. Mihashi freezes, pinned, and he wobbles, shifting rapidly from one foot to another.

“C-coffee!” Mihashi blurts out, an answer to a question Abe hasn’t asked. “We’re passing…”

“Oh.” Mihashi can’t read Abe’s tone. The blonde’s eyes are drawn to the other man’s lips though, as if he’ll be able to catch his meaning there—they’re full but a little chapped, and Mihashi licks his own, flicking his eyes back up to Abe’s before he hopes he’s noticed. “Are you…feeling better?”

Abe’s voice is rough, but not unkind. Mihashi’s eyes widen though, and his lips curve into the faintest of smiles as he nods. “Yes.” He blinks at the other man and feels a drop in his stomach. _I bet he thinks I’m weird._ “I’m sorry…”

“Eh?” Abe’s pulled off his helmet and he’s holding it near his chest; combined with his stormy ( _mad???or just confused???or maybe just his face???_ ) expression and the tense of his muscles, Abe looks rather like he’s crushing someone’s head between his palms.

_Oh no, I said something wrong_ … “I’m sorry!” He blurts again, coloring, wringing his hands in close to his chest. He can faintly feel his heart rabbit-beating under the knuckles of the hand he’s drawn up to his chest, though that’s strange, because he can clearly feel his heart has lodged itself up in his throat.

“No—what do you keep apologizing for?” Abe gets a little closer to the fence, and Mihashi cowers, feet shuffling back a few steps as if of their own volition. He hears the clink-clink of the bat on ball again, and his eyes flick over to see Sakaeguchi in the pen, tongue slightly stuck out as he hits with a precise, crisp swing.

Mihashi gulps, takes a deep breath. He sees Ruri out of the corner of his eye, and she gives him a slight “go on!” motion, snapping back to attention when the movement draws Abe’s eyes to her. The other man looks…confused, but not hostile.

“Hey Abe, what are you bullying him for? You’ve scared him half to death.” The curly-haired guy walks up, leans a well-muscled shoulder casually against the chain-link fence. It creaks a little with his weight—he’s not heavy exactly, but _very_ tall. Mihashi resists the urge to shuffle backwards.

“Eh? I’m not bullying anyone!”

“Jeez Abe, you’ve got such a bad personality.” The redhead comes up, crossing his arms and leaning on the fence in what seems like an unconscious imitation of the other guy—though, he strikes Mihashi as much less imposing, what with the smear of red dust crossing from his cheekbone to his nose that he almost certainly didn’t put there on purpose.

“I’m not—“

“He’s not bullying—m-me…” Mihashi finds his voice, chirping over Abe’s—has hand claps over his mouth. _Oops. I interrupted. Is he mad…?_ A quick glance tells him that no, Abe does not appear to be angry. Or any angrier than usual…?

Abe bends down, retrieving his cap from the ground, dusting it off and plopping it back on his head, frontways this time. He gives Mihashi a look he can’t quite parse after the blonde trails off, then smiles, or rather smirks, a crooked little thing that has Mihashi’s stomach turning over. He shoots a glance at the tall guy like “T _here, see_?” The ball clinks against the bat again as Sakaeguchi swings in the background.

“I’m sorr—hem.” Mihashi clears his throat, nearly apologizing again just on reflex. “I feel—I’m m-much better.” He distantly feels the fabric of his shirt twisting under his fingers’ nervous movements, and sees Abe’s eyes drawn there to his hemline, sees the slightly perplexed set to his eyes. Mihashi’s distantly aware of Ruri hovering right behind him—it seems that the curly-haired guy notices her too, because he hurriedly pushes off the fence and removes his cap.

“We’re being rude, sorry.” He bows a little towards the both of them in greeting. “I’m Hanai. This is Abe and Mizutani. The guy back there in the cage is Sakaeguchi.”

Mihashi jumps, hand going up to remove a cap that isn’t there, and  then he bows, a jerky little thing that has him end up with his torso nearly parallel with the ground. “I’m M-mihashi R-ren.”

“Hishahi…Hen?” Hanai scratches the back of his head. “Um—“

“He’s Mihashi Ren!” Ruri interjects. Her cheeks flush pink when Hanai looks at her again, and she chirps, rather like her cousin, “I’m Ruri! Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you.” Abe echoes politely, removing his cap and slightly inclining his head towards both of them. Mihashi notices a bead of sweat trace its way from his hairline down his neck—the skin is noticeably tanned, but still looks soft…Mihashi squeaks and averts his gaze.

A flash and another crack—from the sky this time, not the bat. Mihashi’s shoulders jolt, and he glances pensively up at the gathering clouds as another drop hits him in the face. _It’s going to be dangerous to practice soon…_

Apparently the coaching staff agrees, as a shrill whistle echoes across the field and everyone’s attention fixes on the infield, where the players seem to be congregating. Abe scowls up at the clouds as if they’ve offended him, his hair flattening as he jams his cap back on.

“Alright, we’ve got to head in. Um--” Hanai inclines his head to them again. “It was nice to meet you!”

_A good person!_ “Nice--to meet you too!” Mihashi chirps, almost in unison with Ruri.

“Mizutani, grab the bats before we leave.” Hanai turns, picking up a bag of balls lying outside the batting cage. Mihashi notices Sakaeguchi has come out of the netting and is picking up his cap, helmet tucked under one arm. The other boy catches Mihashi’s gaze and give him a little wave, short brown hair sticking to his forehead slightly.

“Yes Captain~” Mizutani drawls, and squawks as he is rewarded by a short tug on his ponytail.

“Hey.” Mihashi startles, and he turns a little to find that Abe has lingered back a little, arms crossed and close enough that Mihashi could reach out and touch him, if the fence wasn’t in the way.

“Y-y-yes?” Mihashi squeaks, fingers back to twisting in his shirt.

A beat. Abe’s hand comes up to curl lightly on the fence, and Mihashi sees...something, some emotion to fleeting and too tiny to be read flash across his face. “...take care of yourself.”

Mihashi makes a tiny, questioning sound low in his throat--he doesn’t see Ruri out of the corner of his eye anymore, and he thinks she’s backed up to give them privacy, maybe. All he can see is Abe, his dark eyes shaded by the brim of his cap--a tiny smudge of dirt a little streaked by sweat on his cheek--a partial view of the blisters on his palm--the delicate blue veins running diagonally against the tendon of his wrist--

His _bare_ wrist.

His _blank_ wrist.

Mihashi’s face goes numb. And...he can’t tell whether it’s turning white or bright red--though something’s happening, he can see it in Abe’s expression, how the other man’s eyes widen slightly, how he follows Mihashi’s gaze to the inside of his wrist--his left wrist--how his face closes off. How he uncurls his fingers from the wire and draws his arm in close to his body, rubbing the skin of his inner arm with the other hand, as if it hurt.

And then Abe just...leaves. Just turns around with that awful blank look on his face and walks away.

For once, Mihashi has no tears, and his vision remains crystal clear as he watches the number on Abe’s back grow smaller across the field. His hands have stilled on his shirt, and he is perfectly still save for his windblown hair until he feels Ruri’s hand gently land on his shoulder.

“Um...it’s…” A crack of thunder. Ruri’s voice is soft, like she’s worried Mihashi will shatter. “We should get inside.”

Mihashi's head nods, mechanically; he lets her take his arm, draw him forward across the lot. Drifts in her wake until they reach the cafe. Sits down until the feeling comes back to his face.

"Some people get theirs removed, you know." Ruri sits, gently setting down a hot tea in front of Mihashi which he gulps numbly. The heat is just short of burning his tongue and throat as it goes down.

"Why?" Mihashi's voice doesn't tremble, not right now.

"Um...because it makes them nervous, I guess. That's what I heard, anyways." Ruri's voice is low, hard to hear over the sounds of rain pouring over the slatted roof and pooling outside. "It doesn't mean..."

Ruri trails off. What neither of them say hangs between them, heavier than the water-drenched air--that Mihashi might be a spare.

It's so strange--Mihashi's never known anyone, never even heard of anyone living whose clock ran out without a mate. Only in the movies--

He hadn't imagined his clock running out, had he?  Mihashi turns his hand over.

[00:00:00]

"Don't give up." Ruri's hand gently covers his on the table, the steam from the tea drifting languorously between them, pricking Mihashi's nose.

"I..." Mihashi swallows once, twice. "I won't."

The feeling's mostly returned to his limbs, and he looks down at the fine wood grain of the table. He had promised, hadn't he? That he would give this a try? _If he really...if he really doesn't have a clock...he must be lonely._

Mihashi would be.

Never mind that he's not exactly the best company--he doesn't know what he can do for this man, this boy with the grey eyes and blank-canvas wrist. But Mihashi can never give up on the things he loves. Not completely.

Mihashi hears, softly, “I know you’re nervous. Ugh, just thinking about meeting my _soulmate_ makes me a little queasy.” Ruri gives his hand a little squeeze. “Thanks for showing me.”

Mihashi smiles his funny “v” smile--a weak little thing, but genuine enough. His fingers tighten on hers a little before she pulls her hand back. He isn’t sure if she’s talking just about Abe or the campus in general, but he just nods at the table as if it had spoken. “Thanks for coming.” He takes a deep breath. The air tastes like coffee and rain. “I’ll…try. I promise. With Abe-san.”

“I know you will.” Mihashi looks up at Ruri’s tone to find her smiling fondly up at him—Mihashi’s not a tall man by any means, but he’s long since outgrown his cousin, and she has to tilt her face up towards his to talk even when they're both sitting. “You’re so stubborn, so I know that you can do it. And…I’m sure it’s worth it.” She flashes a small white smile. “Kanou’s supposed to meet his soulmate soon too, so you guys can help each other out.”

Mihashi nods, shoulders hunching up a little bit. He’s wondered whose clock matches Kanou’s—he hopes whoever it is is nice. Kanou deserves at least that much.

They finish their tea and coffee and both sprint to the train station, not bothering to go back to the apartment in the downpour, and Mihashi sends Ruri back a little early before the storm gets even worse. Ruri’s breath fogs up the glass a little as she waves to him from the inside of the train, and Mihashi waves back, hair already plastered to his forehead. Her face disappears behind the condensation, and Mihashi nearly turns away—but Ruri draws something in the glass, fingertip cutting through the fog and forming a shape—

“ #1 ”

Tears prick the corner of Mihashi’s eyes, and he waves again, even though his cousin can’t see him. One. The number of an ace.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PLOT THICKENS

**Author's Note:**

> *Sidles in* So, um. This is a thing.
> 
> Basically this is a "what if" in a lot of ways, not the least of which is that Mihashi didn't play baseball in high school.  
> I also wanted to write an AU, and I didn't really feel like reproducing Mihashi and Abe's relationship exactly from the first few chapters, so I think you'll find Abe's mellowed significantly with age and has taken MANY CHILL PILLS. But I hope he'll still be recognizable as the grump we all know and love.


End file.
